


Remember Me

by Axismundix



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Be gentle, M/M, Sexy Times, first try at this, not quite porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-25 02:03:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13824159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Axismundix/pseuds/Axismundix
Summary: When one has to go, one always needs to remember what they are missing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay... this is my first try at this kind of stuff. Please be gentle with me here.

“I have to go to Tervinter,” Dorian said with disgust as he slapped the book he had been reading, closed.

 

Blinking and looking up from his own book, Lachlan tilted his head slightly. “That kinda came out of nowhere, care to elaborate?”

 

“Not particularly, no,” Dorian huffed, as he let himself flop, bonelessly, down onto the chaise lounge he had been reading on. It was quite comfortable. He was quite glad he had convinced Lachlan to buy it, and have it put in his room here in Skyhold. 

 

It was also quite useful for dramatic displays. And...other….things.

 

“Well,” Lachlan nodded as he set aside his book and stood from the bed. “If you don’t tell me willingly. I will be forced to get it out of you by force.”

 

“Oh?” Dorian smirked as Lachlan leaned over him. “And how would you do something like that?”  _ Maker _ , Dorian thought. _ How can a human man look so….delicious….. _

 

Dorian’s eyes roamed over Lachlan’s bare, firm, chest. He took in the lean, wiry muscles that lined his lover’s arms. The tight, stomach that hinted at the strong, limber muscle. That little trail of light red hair that led down to…

 

“Hey!” Lachlan laughed as he danced outside of Dorian’s grasping hands. “No hands, buster! Not until you tell me what the problem is.”

 

“Maker….” Dorian sighed as he let his arms drop. “How did you learn to move so well. You’re like an oiled otter.”

 

For a moment Lachlan looked taken aback. “Okay, that’s a new one,” he smirked as he shook his head. “To answer the question though, I would guess it might have something to do with my mother being half elven? At least, that’s what I always thought.”

 

“Eh….don’t think so,” Dorian thoughtfully stared at the ceiling. “As I understand it, and not that I have studied it, mind you, human blood breeds mostly true. But then, I have not seen any other humans with purple eyes.”

 

“Same as my mother’s,” Lachlan shrugged as he lifted Dorian’s legs enough to slip onto the lounge, then dropping them back on his lap. “My sister takes more after our father. You know, dark hair, dark eyes. Typical Marcher.”

 

“Nothing about you is typical,” Dorian smiled as Lachlan’s hands slid over his legs. Then he let out a light groan as his love took one of his feet in his strong, dexterous fingers, massaging them. “And that’s cheating.”

 

“Gotta beat you someway,” Lachlan chuckled. “Now. Spill it.”

 

“Oh, you can believe I’m going to be spilling it….” Dorian sighed again before wincing as Lachlan dug a finger into a nerve. “Okay, okay! I give!”

 

“Good boy,” Lachlan nodded to himself in satisfaction.

 

“It’s my mother’s birthday in a month,” Dorian almost spat. “I will be expected to make an appearance. Make a speech. Kiss some cheeks. Get too drunk on wine, vomit in a potted plant and avoid the aunt that keeps wanting to set me up with ‘a lovely girl she just met at a salon’.”

 

“Dorain, your mother’s birthday is important,” Lachlan turned to look more at him fully. “I know you have had a...rough...family life. But be better than them.”

 

“Andraste’s ass, you are so fucking adorable,” Dorian snorted as he sat up, and turned himself so that he could take Lachlan in his arms and rested his chin on the pale shoulder. “I wish I could take you with me.”

 

“You can’t?” Lachlan tilted his head slightly, resting his cheek on Dorian’s forehead. “Well, no. I know why.”

 

“They would eat you alive,” Dorian grumbled. “And I can’t have that. It’s bad manners to explode members of the Magisterium.”

 

“Is it now?” Lachlan laughed as his hands slid, slowly up Dorian’s bare thigh.

 

A slight frown crossed Dorian’s face. “I...Maker...At least in public...What are you doing to me?”

 

“Well…” Lachlan smirked as his hands found the member he was looking for. Feeling it grow in his hands. “I have to make sure you remember what, exactly, you will be missing.”

 

Dorian shoved forward, turning Lachlan’s face to his, their lips coming together. Tongues intertwined as Dorian’s hands gripped Lachlan’s long red hair, pulling it frimley, eliciting a quiet squeal from his lover.

 

“Dorian…” Lachlan breathed as he rolled back, pulling the dark haired tervinter on top of him, trapping Dorian’s thighs with his own.

 

“Quiet,” Dorian growled as his mouth hungrily slid down Lachlan’s jaw, to his neck. His teeth digging into the flesh as he sucked, marking this man as  _ his _ . “I am going to make sure you feel me even until I return.”

 

“Oh, fuck...,” Lachlan groaned as Dorian moved lower, his teeth catching on Lachlan’s nipple. Then to the other one. A tongue slide between the tensed muscles of Lachlan’s abdomen. “Fuck, Dorian, I was going to….”

 

“I said, shut...up,” Dorian snarled now as he aggressively pushed Lachlan’s legs apart. “Now. Be mine!”

 

There were no more words. Only sounds. Sounds of a mouth sliding down, then back up. Sounds of pale, freckled hands, twisting in dark hair. 

 

Groans of pleasure. Groans of growing tension.

 

Cries then. Cries of ecstasy. White-hot cries. Cries that were of release. 

 

Whimpers. Exhausted whimpers. Dropping, panting, sighing. 

 

Swallows. Chuckles of satisfaction. Enjoyment of fruits of the labor.

 

“More,” came the whisper. 

 

“Fill me,” was begged.

 

Then lips together once more. The taste mingling. Salt of sweat. Sweet of love. 

 

Skin came together, rolled together. Hands intertwined. Fingers locked. Two people. Two people, so desperately in love, becoming one. 

 

Each one desperate to give more than he received. Eager to take all that was given. Above as below. Given and taken. Each in turn filled the other until exhaustion took them both.

 

The smell of sweat and sex.  The sweet incense, and the hearty smoke from the fire. Leather from the books. The fruity wine, spilled on the floor joy, and love and pleasure.

 

Then the peacefulness of sleep. Only to meet again in dreams, with arms around each other. Bliss and joy. Happiness and fear.

 

Everything.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

 


	2. Biggest Balls of them All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Separation from those you love is never easy. It is worse when your family never liked your choices in life. But...maybe by the end...there might just be a glimmer of hope.

“I am happy you could come, Dorian,” Halward Pavus, head of House Pavus, and Dorian’s father, said, while attempting a smile. “Your mother will be pleased as well.”

 

“Yes, I’m sure,” Dorian said, dryly. His father was making the attempt. He might as well humor the man. It’s what Lachlan would want him to do. “It is good to see that you aren’t...dead?”

 

“I...what?” Halward blinked, clearly confused, and a little alarmed.

 

“Ugh, sorry, that came out completely wrong,” Dorian sighed as he swiped a hand over his eyes. “I was worried that my association with the Inquisition might have made you a target.”

 

“Oh...I see,” Halward nodded with a slight smile. This time, actually genuine. “I have to say, it has indeed made life interesting. Between the, rather markedly, increased social invitations, and serious threats and angry retorts, I have not had any particular increase in attempts on my life.”

 

“So...standard Tervinter life, is what you are saying,” Dorian chuckled.

 

“More or less, yes,” Halward nodded as he swept an arm toward the line of servants that stood to either side of the walkway leading to the doors of the Pavus main house. 

 

A walkway, Dorian noted, that was covered in rose petals. He  _ hated _ roses….

 

“Ah, yes,” Halward nodded, catching Dorian’s glower. “Your mother’s idea. She has been fairly pleased in the upswing of her social life. But she does still hold a bit of a grudge about the marriage.”

 

“Of course she does,” Dorian sighed as he walked with his father into the house. Not that it was anything like a real house. The main hall would almost give Skyhold a run for its money. 

 

Okay, not really. But it was still extremely large.

 

“Mother would never give up a chance to have something to complain about,” with a dramatic sigh, Dorian looked about. “Besides, she need ammunition when trying to undercut one’s self confidence. She would be a horrible harpy in that situation.”

 

“Heh,” Halward actually let out a quiet laugh before changing the subject. “I had your things taken to your old rooms. Your mother had ordered them to remain untouched in your absence, as she was in mourning. I, however, made sure the staff kept them clean.”

 

“Mourning?” Dorian blinked incredulous. “She was in mourning? For me? Because I didn’t marry that stupid girl from House Sorenn?”

 

Halward gave his son a noncommittal shrug. “She is a bit melodramatic. You should have heard the wailing when word reached us about the fall of Haven.”

 

“I can only imagine,” Dorian crossed his arms. “Let me guess, she was so happy to find out I was alive, that she had the ‘vapors’ and needed to have a retreat. Complete with minstrels, actors and massage oils?”

 

“You know your mother well, son.” Halward sighed. “You know her well.”

 

\------------------------------------

 

Leaning back in his chair, Dorian stretched in the morning sunlight. It was nice and warm here, in Minrathos. The sun actually worked here. It didn’t just mock you with the hint of warmth, only to have a wind cold enough to freeze the nipples off a darkspawn.

 

_ Wish I could share this with Lachlan _ , he mused forlornly.  _ He’s probably picking elfroot while Dark Templars shot arrows at his head. Again. _

 

“Master?” a rather pretty young girl spoke next to him. “Would you like for me to crack your egg for you?”

 

“What?” Dorian blinked, taken aback. “No, of course not. I can open my own egg.”

 

“Ah!” the girl flinched back, her eyes dropping to the floor. “Uh...of course! Please forgive me!”

 

“Oh, for the love of,” Dorian cursed quietly to himself as he tapped the sides of the shell of his soft boiled egg. He had forgotten what it was like, having slaves around. Being in Skyhold had made him disgustingly self sufficeint. “No, forget it,” he sighed, glancing at the girl. “If you are eager to do things, I would appreciate a refill on my wine, and then be a dear and fetch me an ink pot and quill.”

 

“Yes, master,” girl smiled and blushed as she dashed off.

 

“Really?” Dorian asked the egg as he shook his head. Then he picked up the wine jug and topped off his goblet.

 

\------------------------------

 

Love,

 

I can’t tell you how uncomfortable it is here. The food is perfect. The wine is amazing. I even have a cat on my lap, right now.

 

But I hate it because you aren’t here. 

 

I really wish I brought you with me, what others thought be damned.

 

But, honestly, I am more happy that you aren’t here. In the week I have been here, I have already had four attempts on my life. 

 

Ah, all by bungling idiots of course. Nothing actually dangerous!

 

I am terrible at this aren’t I?

 

No matter, two more days, then the great Ball my mother is throwing, in her own honor, of course, then I will return to you Anon.

 

Anon. That is a stupid word.

 

Yours in Love,

 

D

 

\------------------------------------------

 

“Dorian!” Aquina Thalrassin, wife of Halward Pavus, and mother to Dorian Pavus, exclaimed loudly as she shuffled daintily into the ‘small’ salon. Only twenty five of her closest fren-emies and sycophants.

 

“Ah, greetings, mother,” Dorian stood and bowed lightly. “I am pleased to see you are in good health.”

 

That, was a lie. All around. He most certainly was  _ not _ pleased to see his mother. And she did  _ not _ look to be in good health. 

 

She was, of course. But her thick makeup, stooped posture and shuffling gait did all it could to project the air of some fragile beauty, bereft of light and love, estranged from her family….

 

It right made Dorian sick.

 

“Oh, dear son,” the Harpy breathed as a rather strapping young slave gently assisted her into a seat. The young man looked to,  _ maybe _ , be over the age of sixteen. And he was oiled.

 

“I was so lost with sorrow, having heard of your potential death,” the Harpy continued. “I struggled to plan your funeral. I had such plans…” she sighed wistfully, while fixing him with a stare that said,  _ How dare you survive and make me waste all that pity! _

 

“Well, I am happy to inform you, that I not only survived, but I am working closely with the Inquisitor, himself,”  Dorian said cheerfully, ignoring his mother’s cold eye. “In fact, we work hand in hand, thrusting through many of the problems facing Thedas. It is my hope we can  _ come _ to a conclusion soon.”

 

“Oh…” the Harpy said, her false smile faltering slightly. She was not exactly the brightest candle in the Chantry, but she knew she was being mocked, even if she didn’t quite understand how. “Well, yes,” she plowed on. “And once this business is settled, I am looking forward to your coming home. I am so looking forward to finishing the engagement with the young miss Sorenn.”

 

Dorian’s eyes flashed for a moment as he set his tea cup down a little too firmly for proper decorum. Looking at his mother, and her self satisfied sneer, it was all Dorian could do to stop himself from turning her in a gnewt.

 

“Oh, mother, dearest,” he leaned back and grinned at her, foretelling his master stroke.  _ Maker, how I love that little widening of the eyes as she feels the fear…. _

 

“I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but I have come to a conclusion that might make that engagement difficult, to say the least.”

 

“I...I see,” the Harpy said, haltingly. “And what, may I dare to ask, would that be?”

 

“Well mother, I have found that I really like Cock.”

 

\-------------------------------------

  
  


_ Bored _ , Dorian thought to himself as he let his eyes roam the main hall. All around him swirled the social elite of Tervinter. All these people, in their colorful, gaudy clothes, talking, without saying anything, lest they give a rival an advantage. Dancing, but without joy, lest a rival see a moment of weakness.

 

And Dorian gave no real shits. Honestly, he couldn’t even be bothered to put on the fake smile he usually wore. Instead he stood in a corner, drinking a bit too deeply from an over full goblet, swallowing it halfway down in a single pull.

 

With a sigh, he simply held the goblet out to the side and watched as the pretty young girl, the slave he had taken a bit of a shine to, Rosalie, refilled the goblet, with a smile. And the large bottle of wine that she carried for his personal use.

 

Bit harder to poison one that way.

 

Unless the girl was an assassin.

 

Then he wouldn’t have to deal with this damn party anymore.

 

*BRAWNG* ran the large gong that stood beside the from doors. It was a hideous thing. Supposedly captured from the Qunari is some major engagement or another. His mother had found it charming and simply  _ must have it! _

 

Now she used it to signal when a guest arrived.

 

The ball had been going for several hours already, at this point. In fact, whomever this was, had to either be  _ very _ important, enough to be well more than fashionably late, or they were about to be social crushed forever.

 

Either would be something interesting for Dorian.

 

“Announcing. Lady Lucille Minerva Astra Trevelyn of Ostwick. Countess Kellend, of Ferelden, and Former First Enchanter for Emperor Flidious the Second of Orlais. Related to the line of Pavus by Cousin-bond, nine times removed.”

 

Choking, Dorian nearly spat wine through his nose as his eyes shot over to the hall’s entrance. 

 

At the top of the stairs stood an older woman. The kind of age that hit a certain point around sixty and promptly froze, probably out of fear, until death. The gown she wore would almost put anything Vivienne had to shame. It was cut in the latest fashion form Orlais itself, ahead even, of most of the gathered ‘Elite’ already here.

 

The colors though, were those of the Inquisition.

 

And the man at her arm nearly made Dorian’s eye pop from surprise.

 

“Accompanying her, is Lord Lachlan Delcius Trevelyan, second son of Bann George Trevelyan of Ostwick. Current head of the Inquisition of the South. Dragon Slayer. Related to the line of Pavus by Cousin-bond, nine times removed.”

 

Lachlan’s normally wild red hair was oiled back and bound at the nape of his neck with a silver clasp. One Dorian had given him, in fact. His face was cleanly shaven, to Dorian’s slight dismay, but the smirk on his face. And the way his face lit up when he caught sight of Dorian. The wink of those violet eyes….

 

Almost made up for that damned smug expression.

 

“There is going to be no living with him after this,” Dorian attempted to grumble, but he couldn’t keep the joy from his voice as he glanced back at the puzzled Rosalie. 


End file.
